


Cushioned Landings

by paperstorm



Series: To The Edge and Over [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean Winchester, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-10 04:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21475747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: This is a sequel to our fic To The Edge and Over. Dean flirts, Sam gets jealous, Dean makes it up to him.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: To The Edge and Over [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547971
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Cushioned Landings

At first, Sam was always on edge for a while. He loved what he had with Dean, couldn’t possibly get enough of him when they were alone, but he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dean has a tendency to struggle with something like this – something he wants but doesn’t think is good for Sam – and then decide to go for it for a while before rethinking things and changing his mind. He’s got this annoying older-brother-ness written into his DNA, and sometimes it stops him from doing or having something that he wants if he thinks it’s something that isn’t in Sam’s best interests. For the most part, Sam finds it irritating, although recently he’s learning to see it in a different light. He’s starting to realize how much Dean has sacrificed for him, and to take it as proof of how much Dean loves him instead of an annoyance.  
  
But then to Sam’s surprise, things between them just continue to get better. The shoe Sam’s waiting for never drops, even though he still keeps expecting it to happen every time Dean frowns or goes quiet. Sam loves him so much, but he’s worried Dean’s eventually going to decide again that what they have is wrong and take it away. So far, Dean hasn’t.  
  
Granted, they still have to deal with hiding things from Dad and Dean going on hunts that last weeks and Dad wanting Sam to go with them more and more. And – no matter how much they love each other – they’re still brothers above all else so of course there are stupid fights and pointless arguments that don’t manage to accomplish anything aside from them not speaking to each other for a day or two. And of course, when they’re with Dad, Dean still feels like he has to put on the show he always has; flirting with anything in a skirt, being the red-blooded American Dad wants them both to be so badly. It makes Sam want to simultaneously punch his brother in his stupid, too pretty face, and throw his arms around Dean’s neck and show those skanks _and_ Dad that Dean is _his_.  
  
So, yeah, all things considering, things are going well. There are bumps but it could be a lot worse. And then when they’re alone, when Sam finally has Dean exactly how he’s always wanted him, Sam can’t figure out how it could possibly be better. Everything TV and the movies make people think love’s supposed to be, with Dean it is.  
  
It’s actually been a good week. Dad was home for a few days, and he and Sam actually managed to spend the time together without fighting, but he left earlier this morning and for once he left Dean behind. Sam was freaking ecstatic when Dean told him. Right at the beginning of their relationship – or whatever – Dad was constantly leaving them in motel after motel and they spent long, glorious weekends with nothing to do but learn everything about each other. Sam didn’t know it was possible to feel all the things Dean makes him feel, to be so dizzy with arousal he can’t see straight, to be lit up inside with pleasure that takes his breath away. He loved exploring Dean’s body, figuring out all the spots that made him shiver, just how to touch him to having him moaning Sam’s name. But lately, Dad’s been taking Dean on hunts more and more, getting him into the family business, and it sucks ass. And not at all in the way Sam would like it to.  
  
Thankfully, that’s not the case this time. Add to that the fact that it’s Friday and that he only has a very small amount of homework to distract him from everything he’d rather be doing, and Sam’s pretty freaking happy.  
  
Dean is already home when Sam gets in from school, lounging on the couch in just a pair of low slung jeans, chest and feet bare, his feet kicked up on the table. He shoots Sam a soft smile and a quiet, “Heya, Sammy.” And just like that, Sam’s mouth goes dry and his whole body freaking aches to touch his ridiculously, unfairly sexy big brother. Dean’s not even freaking doing anything and Sam’s already a little lightheaded with arousal.  
  
But in his own defense, he’s sixteen and horny all the damn time and he’s having relatively regular sex with someone as smoking hot as Dean. So, yeah, totally not his fault. He has a sort-of-friend at school, Matt, and Matt thinks Sam has a secret girlfriend because when he’d asked, earlier, if Sam had plans for the weekend, Sam’s brain screeched to a halt imagining them and he didn’t say anything for a full minute, until Matt’s skinny fingers snapping in his face brought him back to reality. Sam blushed like crazy when he realized what had happened, and Matt had raised his eyebrows and said, “That good, huh?” and Sam shrugged and smiled to himself because Matt doesn’t even know.  
  
Dean is still watching him when Sam realizes he’d been lost in his own thoughts again, and he smirks. Because no matter how gorgeous and sexy Dean is, and no matter how much Sam wants him practically every minute of the day, Dean’s still a dick. He raises one eyebrow in that infuriating – and sexy – way that kinda makes Sam’s knees weak at the same time he wants to punch Dean.  
  
“You okay, little brother?”  
  
Sam nods and forces himself to move; he doesn’t think standing there staring like an idiot will help at all. It’ll just give Dean an excuse to be even more smug than he already is. Sam walks over to drop his bag off just inside their bedroom door and kicks off his boots, not-so-subtly reaching down to adjust his half-hard cock that’s pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. There are times when it drives Sam crazy how much Dean affects him with so little, but then there are times when Sam’s irritated by it, because of course Dean’s as good at being a turn-on as he is at everything else. It’s stupid how perfect he is. He turns around as he slips his jacket off, jerking in surprise when he looks up and finds Dean standing there. He’s casually leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, silently watching Sam.  
  
“What?” Sam snaps, still not completely used to Dean looking at him like that, the whole thing making him a little uncomfortable and embarrassed.  
  
Dean’s eyes widen a bit and he drops his arms, pushing off the frame to step further into the room. He’s as cool and calm and collected as ever and Sam really doesn’t think it’s fair that Dean affects him so much by just existing while Dean doesn’t even seem fazed. When he’s close enough, Dean half reaches out for Sam before he obviously thinks better of it and drops his arm to his side again. There’s a part of Sam that’s kind of glad his brother didn’t touch him, while the rest of him – the bigger part – really wishes that Dean would. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him suddenly. All the way home from school, he was so happy and excited to get to spend the whole weekend together, just him and Dean.  
  
“Somethin’ wrong, Sammy?” Dean asks softly, in that voice he’s been using for Sam’s whole life like nothing has ever mattered to him more. That’s maybe what intimidates him the most. Sam always knew how much Dean cared about him, that his safety and happiness was Dean’s whole world, but Sam never really realized the intensity of it.  
  
He manages to shake his head, dragging his tongue over his dry lips, and Dean tracks the movement with his eyes. This time when Dean reaches out, his fingers make contact with Sam’s forearm, and he wraps them around Sam’s waist and tugs Sam in close. Sam goes, his heartbeat speeding up, as Dean pulls him in and wraps his arms around Sam’s waist. Sam puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and blinks up at him - just barely, he’s almost exactly Dean’s height now and he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean was the one looking up at him within a couple months, a fact that Sam knows Dean is not going to be happy about. Dean smiles, that one that’s both soft and fond, and predatory at the same time. Sam’s seen him give versions of it to chicks over the years, but he’s the only person Dean’s ever flashed that particular grin to. It has something more in it when it’s directed at Sam, something deeper than physical.  
  
“How was school?” Dean asks, leaning forward to nudge Sam’s nose with his own, his lips almost touching Sam’s but not quite.  
  
Sam swallows thickly. “You care?”  
  
Dean laughs quietly. “Not really, no. But I’m all ears if you wanna tell me.”  
  
“Boring. And long,” Sam says honestly. He slides one hand up to the short hairs on the back of Dean’s head, taking a deep breath and inhaling his brother. “Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you. ‘Bout this.”  
  
“Mm,” Dean hums. He takes a tiny step forward, pressing his hips into Sam’s. “Me too. Thought about showin’ up, pretending our aunt had died or something so I could spring you.”  
  
“We don’t have an aunt.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, doofus. That’s why it’d be okay to say she’s dead.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam replies stupidly. Dean being this close, dangling the promise of a kiss in the air like a plastic mouse over a cat, has Sam’s brain functioning sluggishly.  
  
Dean smiles again, dragging on hand slowly up Sam’s back, sending shivers down his spine, and burying his fingers in Sam’s hair. He leans forward and finally brushes his lips against Sam’s, and Sam sighs in relief and melts into it. He surges up into Dean, not letting Dean tease him, and instantly sliding his tongue along the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean opens up for him and Sam dips his tongue inside.  
  
“We got all weekend, y’know,” Dean murmurs, the hand that’s still on Sam’s back pushing up under his shirt and petting along the skin just above his waistband.  
  
“Yeah, and then Dad’ll be back and then who knows how long we’ll have to wait until the next time he doesn’t take you with him.” Sam can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He has no problem not being invited along on hunts, would much rather not fall behind in school anyway, but he hates Dean being taken away from him.  
  
“So you’re thinkin’ we should make the most of this,” Dean summarizes, his voice soft and husky as his fingers slide down the back of Sam’s jeans and Sam’s skin flushes with arousal.  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“Very practical,” Dean says with another devastating grin, swooping down to kiss Sam harder.  
Sam gets lost in it like he always does, in the sensations of Dean’s lips moving against his, wet and warm and insistent. Dean surrounds him, physically with his arms around Sam’s body and his chest pressed into Sam’s, and mentally, as that larger-than-life, encompassing presence he’s always been in Sam’s life. Nothing has ever been bigger or more important in Sam’s world than Dean, and that’s true even more now that Dean’s the one Sam wants, fantasizes about, loves. The face he sees behind his eyelids, the name on his lips when he comes. The reason he’s just barely passing English this year – his teacher has eyes almost the same shade as Dean’s and Sam can never look at her for more than a minute without dissolving into daydreams.  
  
Dean swipes his tongue into Sam’s mouth, sliding it languidly against Sam’s as he pushes his hand further into Sam’s pants and squeezes a handful of Sam’s ass through his underwear. Sam’s head spins. Dean is too good at this, and Sam always wants it way too much. It doesn’t matter what they do, how many times they do it; Sam can never get enough. And it never is enough because they don’t get nearly enough time alone. Sam fully intends for them to spend the entire weekend in bed. He doesn’t care that he has homework that won’t get done. He wants to taste every inch of Dean’s body, to fall asleep and wake up in Dean’s strong, protecting arms, for Dean to fuck him until neither of them can move.  
  
Sam’s arms wrap around Dean’s broad shoulders, keeping him as close as humanly possible, chasing after Dean’s lips again when he moves away to take a breath. Dean chuckles softly into the kiss, a warm, fond sound, but thankfully kisses him back, their lips and tongues moving together in practiced ease. He rocks his hips forward, moaning in the back of his throat when his mostly-hard cock brushes against his brother’s, the sweet burst of friction just enough to tease at what he really wants.  
  
He wasn’t lying before, he has been thinking about this all day; thinking about Dean’s arms around him, their bodies pressed together from shoulders to feet, Dean kissing him until he can’t breathe, can’t think, doesn’t know anything but the feeling of Dean’s hands and lips on him. Hell, he’s pretty sure he spent the day half-hard and missed pretty much everything that was said in all of his classes. But right now, he can’t bring himself to care about any of that. They’ve got the whole weekend together, don’t even have to get dressed if they don’t want to, and that’s pretty much all Sam can focus on.  
  
Dean walks him backward toward his bed, one hand still shoved down the back of his jeans, the other still curled into a loose fist in Sam’s hair, their lips still attached, tongues still swirling together, chasing each other’s. Dean pulls away when the back of Sam’s legs hit the mattress and Sam groans at the sight of Dean’s lips, plumper than usual, spit-slick and red, and a thrill goes down his spine. He did that.  
  
He slides his hands down Dean’s bare back, loving the play of muscles beneath his fingers. Dean drops his head a bit, trailing a fiery line of open-mouthed kisses down over his jaw, to his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Sam moans, his head tilting back, giving Dean all the room he wants. To his disappointment, Dean stops much too soon in his opinion, pulling his hand out of Sam’s jeans.  
  
“Off,” he murmurs, tugging pointedly at the hem of Sam’s t-shirt. It admitted takes his lust-fogged brain longer than it probably should to get with the program and lift his arms, letting Dean pull his shirt up and off. This time, when Dean pulls him into his arms, there’s the sweet slide of flesh against flesh, bare chests pressed together, and Sam wants this, wants Dean, so bad he can hardly see straight. They’ve barely even gotten started but he already knows that this is going to be one of those times where they have to do something to take the edge off before they can get to the good stuff. It’s been too long since they’ve really had a decent amount of time together, and a few hurried hand-jobs or blow-jobs or – worse yet, jerking off alone in the shower – aren’t nearly enough. He wants all of Dean, all the time.  
  
Dean grabs his hips and gently tosses him onto the mattress, a surprised squeak escaping Sam’s lips. He tries to glare at his brother but he’s sure it loses all heat when Dean smirks at him – that damn Dean Winchester smirk that drives him fucking crazy – and pops the button on his jeans. He doesn’t really make a show of it, just undoing his jeans and wiggling them down off his hips, but Sam’s mesmerized, can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Dean in just a pair of tight black boxer briefs, the front tented obscenely. Even though they’ve been doing this for a while now, it still sometimes surprises him when he sees Dean hard for him.  
  
Dean leans over the end of the bed and his fingers brush along the sensitive skin above the waist of Sam’s jeans, green eyes dark and lust-blown locked with his as Dean blindly unbuttons and unzips Sam’s jeans. Sam lifts his hips automatically, sighing in relief when the pressure is relieved from across his groin. Dean pulls the denim down his legs and off, tossing them over his shoulder, then crawls onto the mattress, knee-walking his way up between Sam’s spread thighs. They both moan when Dean drops his hips, their cocks brushing together through wash-worn cotton. Dean dips down and kisses him again, one hand returning to Sam’s hair, the other gripping his hip, fingers digging into bone and muscle almost hard enough to hurt.  
  
Sam reaches down, shoves one hand into his brother’s underwear, palming Dean’s ass, fingers gripping the sinfully-sweet curve, feeling it flex as Dean thrusts down against him. He knows that he could get off like this, that they both could, and it honestly won’t take a lot at this point, but he wants to feel Dean completely naked against him. He shoves awkwardly at the waistband, a frustrated sound bubbling up from his throat when he can’t quite get them off. Dean chuckles but ignores him for a moment, grinding his hips down into Sam’s and kissing Sam breathless. Sam’s head is spinning already and they’ve barely done anything, and this is far from the first time it’s been like that with Dean. Sam doesn’t know because he doesn’t have experience with anyone else – doesn’t want it, either – but it’s hard to imagine another person affecting him this much.  
  
“Dean,” Sam mumbles, managing somewhere in the flood of arousal to remember he wants them naked.  
  
“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean asks, playing innocent but betraying himself with the way he slows his hips, makes his movements slower and more deliberate, the pressure on Sam’s cock enough to have him moaning.  
  
“Off,” Sam says, pushing at Dean’s boxers again.  
  
Dean takes Sam’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it and then dragging his teeth over it as he lets it go. “Wanna feel me, baby boy? Feel my cock right against yours, the ridge rubbin’ against all those spots that drive you crazy?”  
  
“Yes, Dean, just … c’mon.” Sam’s hips buck up into Dean’s without his brain telling them to do so, and Dean chuckles again, soft and rich and tantalizing.  
  
He goes up on his knees and shoves his boxers down with one hand, not all the way off but enough to get his cock out. Sam lifts his head up and peeks at it. He knows Dean sees, but he doesn’t care. Sam never thought he’d be into what a guy looks like naked, but there isn’t much about Dean that doesn’t get Sam’s pulse racing. It isn’t even really what his cock looks like, it’s that it’s flushed and hard and leaking precome and it’s all because of Sam. He still has trouble getting his head around that sometimes.  
  
“Enjoying the view?” Dean smirks, as he tugs at Sam’s boxers. Sam lifts his hips up and lets Dean pull them down enough that his erection springs free, slapping wetly against his abdomen.  
  
“Got a problem with that?” Sam asks, trying and failing to sound as cool as Dean does when he says things like that.  
  
“Not even a little bit.” Dean swoops down and kisses him again, lowering his body back onto Sam’s so their bare cocks rub together.  
  
Sam kisses him back and sees stars. It’s dry except for sweat and precome but Dean’s skin is warm and the pressure is perfect when Dean rolls his hips like he’s riding a mechanical bull.  
  
“Dean,” Sam hears himself whimper, hands scrambling for purchase on Dean’s back, fingernails digging into his freckled skin. Dean responds by rocking against him harder and nipping at Sam’s bottom lip - one thing Sam’s been happy to learn about Dean in the last couple of months is that he gets off on Sam getting off as much as he does on his own pleasure. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he knows that’s all wrapped up in Dean’s perpetual big-brother persona – a whole new meaning to taking care of Sammy – and Sam knows that part of it is kinda twisted, but he doesn’t care. It’s too hot, too wonderful, that Dean loves him that much, even if he hasn’t said it out loud yet and maybe never will.  
  
It doesn’t matter. Sam doesn’t need him to, anyway.  
  
“Gonna … mmm.” Dean trails off momentarily on a moan, pushing his face into Sam’s neck and mouthing along the skin. “Gonna fuck you later, kay? Just this for now.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agrees. Pleasure bursts along his skin, heating him from the inside and making his vision blurry on the edges. He slides one hand down to palm Dean’s muscular ass, pushing Dean’s hips down harder and bucking his own up. The ridge of Dean’s cock rubs along Sam’s shaft, just like Dean said, and it sends sparks up and down Sam’s spine. “C’mon, big brother,” he mumbles, hissing as Dean bites down on his shoulder.  
  
Dean shudders at the nickname – Sam loves how affected Dean is by the wrongness of what they do together – and he grunts harshly in Sam’s ear and floods the space between them with sticky heat, the movement of his hips going erratic and unpredictable and the sensation presses just enough of Sam’s buttons to have him coming too.  
  
Dean slumps down on top of him when he stops twitching, rolling his hips half-heartedly in an attempt to grind Sam through the last pulses of his orgasm. Sam closes his eyes and keeps his arms tight around Dean’s back, not letting his brother move away. He relaxes into the mattress, breathing deeply and floating happily in post-orgasm bliss with Dean a comforting weight on top of him. Dean kisses Sam’s neck, and Sam turns his head to nudge Dean’s face with his nose. Dean lifts his head just enough to brush his lips against Sam’s, kissing him slowly and lazily, and Sam sighs happily. It’s been way too long since they had all the time in the world to just be together like this, without words or obligations or having to move any sooner than they want to. Sam could lie here like this for hours, getting lost in the soft, passionately languid way Dean kisses him. Dean’s hair is soft under Sam’s fingers – no gel, he must’ve showered just before Sam got home, and he doesn’t always feel the need to put on the whole Dean-Winchester show with Sam anymore; another thing Sam loves – and his skin smells like sweat and sex and Dean, and Sam breathes him in and can’t remember the last time he was this happy.  
  
He thinks, for the millionth time in the last few months, how stupid it was that they fought this for so long. If this is what they were holding themselves back from having, what they thought was wrong, thought they shouldn’t give in to? They were both even bigger idiots than Sam knew at the time.  
  
“Love you,” Sam whispers to him between kisses, and he can feel Dean smile against his lips.  
  
“Know you do, baby boy.”  
  
There’s a low, familiar rumble just beyond the thin motel walls, and for a moment Sam’s brain is too sex-sluggish to place it. He’s heard it before, but he can’t figure out where, and also doesn’t particularly care. But then Dean freezes, every muscle in his body tenses at once, and it hits Sam like a ton of bricks. He recognizes that sound because he knows that truck. He’s heard it almost every day since Dean turned sixteen and the Impala became his. He’s ridden in it; he’s been left behind by it.  
  
It’s Dad. Sam’s heart stops.  
  
“Shit,” Dean swears, lifting his head up.  
  
“Is that –?” Sam asks, heart switching tactics and suddenly beating so quick it makes him queasy.  
  
“Shit!” Dean cries, springing up off Sam like he’s made of white-hot coals.  
  
Sam jumps up after him, and he can’t think. He can’t breathe. In about thirty seconds, their father is going to walk in here and find his sons naked and covered in come. There’s no way they can talk their way out of this. It’s not like Dean can say they had a couple of girls here who just happened to disappear into thin air when Dad’s truck pulled up. The only logical conclusion to the way the two of them look – forget logic, the only conclusion at _all_ – is that they just rubbed off on each other, and he’s going to know, and he’s going to kill them and Sam can’t. Fucking. Breathe.  
  
“Bathroom,” Dean hisses, and Sam turns to him and blinks stupidly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Go to the fucking bathroom!” Dean whisper-yells, his eyes wild and his expression deadly serious. He scrambles around the room for his clothes, tugging his pants on even as he trips over them. “Get in the shower, use the whole freakin’ bottle of that flowery shit if you have to, just make it smell like a shower in here!”  
  
Sam glances back over to the window, where he can see the silhouette of the truck behind the curtains, and his heartbeat just speeds up when he sees the outline of Dad climbing out of it.  
  
“Sam!” Dean snaps, shoving him roughly, and it breaks whatever spell Sam had been under.  
  
He frantically scoops up the clothes he’d tossed onto the ground earlier, shoving them hastily under the bed and just praying Dad won’t look there, as Dean tears through his duffel bag and pulls out a bottle of cologne he hardly ever uses anymore. Then Sam dashes to the bathroom just as his hunter-trained ears pick up the scrape of a key in a lock, and he purposely doesn’t shut the door behind him before he jumps into the shower. He wrenches the nozzle all the way on, and the spray is almost instantly too hot and scalds his unsuspecting skin but Sam doesn’t bother adjusting it. He grabs the complimentary bottle of lavender scented shampoo that was here when they checked in, and pours the entire contents of it into the palm of his hand. He shakes his head around under the water and then quickly massages the sweet-smelling gel into his hair.  
  
The girlish smell of the shampoo is overwhelming, almost making Sam want to sneeze, but he continues scrubbing his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp almost painfully. In all the months that they’ve been doing this, this is the first time they’ve ever even come close to getting caught and it freaks Sam right the hell out. It’s more than just being pissed about their weekend together – alone finally – being ruined, it’s the fact that they almost got busted. And truthfully, part of Sam is terrified. He knows that Dean’ll think of something to tell Dad if there are any questions. Dean’s always been better at thinking on his feet than Sam. But what really freaks him out the most is this is something that could very well break them apart. Dean balances on a tightrope, sometimes, perched precariously between wanting what they have together and not wanting to damage Sam. This could push him off; could be the thing that makes him decide this one time was one time too many and put an end to it all. After everything, this could be the end.  
  
Sam rinses the shampoo out of his hair on autopilot, staring with unseeing eyes at the slick tiles in front of him, tears stinging behind his eyelids no matter how hard he tries to reel in his emotions. He can just barely hear the rumble of Dean’s voice and Dad’s deeper one, even over the sound of the water pouring down around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying. He doesn’t hear any yelling, so maybe that’s a good sign that they might actually manage to get away with this one. His hands are still trembling slightly when he grabs the cheap bar of soap and scrubs his body just as vigorously as he did his hair, washing away the evidence of what they did, his stomach and chest and groin pink and a little tender by the time he’s done.  
  
“Hurry the hell up, Sammy,” Dean’s voice calls out, making Sam jump. “We’re headin’ out.”  
  
Sam frowns in confusion. He heard what Dean said but he doesn’t understand what the words mean. Running his hands down his body, he makes sure that he didn’t miss anything, then shuts the shower off. There’s a clean pair of jeans and boxers and a t-shirt sitting on the sink and Sam can’t help but smile softly, his heart warming at the small gesture. Dean’s always taken care of him, and Sam used to be annoyed by it, but now he finds it endearing.  
  
He dries off and dresses as quickly as he can, tentatively poking his head out the bathroom door before he leaves the small, damp room, not really wanting to run smack-dab into Dad before he hopefully gets a chance to talk to Dean. Thankfully, the hallway is empty so Sam ducks out quickly and heads toward their room. Dean’s inside, his back to the door, shoving his stuff into his duffel. All of his stuff, from what it looks like.  
  
Sam walks up behind him, not touching no matter how badly he wants to; his fingers actually twitching at his sides with the need to touch, to ground himself. “Dean?” he asks uncertainly.  
  
Dean glances at him over his shoulder then goes right back to packing. “Hunt turned out to be bigger than Dad thought. He’s gonna need both of us on this one. We might not come back after, so pack up your shit.”  
  
Sam swallows thickly and nods, barely biting back the urge to ask, to scream at the injustice, to beg Dean not to slip back into older-brother-mode and be Dad’s perfect little soldier while his lips are still tingling from their kisses like Sam’s are. But he’s been tagging around after Dean his whole life, watching him, copying him; and he knows his brother, knows that now isn’t the time for any of that. Dean will just shut down, even more than he already has, and it’ll just end up hurting Sam even more in the long run. Maybe it’s better, anyway. Since they have to go with Dad whether Sam likes it or not, maybe it’ll be easier to go back to pretending if Dean closes himself off. But still, before he can begin to even think about facing Dad, he has to know.  
  
“Are we … I mean, is everything ... okay?” He doesn’t clarify, doesn’t need to. They both know damn-well what he’s talking about.  
  
Dean inhales deeply, lets it out on a long sigh, and turns toward Sam. “Everything’s fine, kiddo,” he says simply, with a casual smile that’s entirely too convincing for Sam’s liking.  
  
“Did he …”  
  
“I said it’s fine, Sam,” Dean interrupts, big brother tone leaving no room for argument. “C’mon, get your shit together. We gotta move.”  
  
Sam huffs a sigh and barely resists resorting to petulant little brother in response. It’s his instinct when Dean’s being bossy. But he knows that Dad is still in the house somewhere and Dean likely needs time to process and deal with this in his own head before they can deal with it together. At least they’ll be in the Impala together and can actually talk without Dad around. Assuming Dean will want to talk.  
  
Way too many years of practice has Sam packed up and ready within ten minutes, duffel in the trunk and leaning against the side with Dean, only half-listening as Dad speaks to them in his best General voice.  
  
“We’re only a few hours out so you boys follow me and once we get there, we’ll get a room and go over everything.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” they answer in unison. Sam doesn’t bother asking what it is that they’re hunting. He doesn’t care.  
  
Dad nods and barely spares them another glance before heading around to the driver’s side of the truck. Sam pushes off the side of the car and circles around, folding himself in the passenger’s seat while Dean gets behind the wheel. Sam’s itching to talk about this, the words feeling like they’re literally right on the tip of his tongue, pushing against his teeth to get out. He needs to know what was said while he was in the shower, what Dean came up with to cover up what they’d just done, where Dean’s head is at right now, if anything has changed. But before he can open his mouth, as soon as the engine turns over, Dean shoves an AC/DC tape in the deck and turns it up. He doesn’t have it at ‘I’m pissed off’ level but it is at the ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ level, which actually doesn’t surprise Sam in the least. Dean has always had trouble talking about things, especially difficult things, even with Sam. He’s mostly used to it but now more than ever, it’s still irritating.  
  
Sam makes it just over a half hour before he just can’t take it anymore. The scruffy fields flying passed the window do nothing to keep his mind off all the things swirling around inside it, and sometimes Sam doesn’t care if Dean doesn’t want to talk about something. Sometimes they just need to. Despite the risk he knows he’s taking, he leans over and turns down the radio.  
  
As predicted, that move earns him a quick sideward glance and a scowl, Dean growling, “What the hell, Sam?”  
  
He would never be that annoyed just because Sam turned the music down. He knows what’s about to come out of Sam’s mouth, and Sam doesn’t like how easy it is for Dean to see through him.  
  
“Come on, man,” Sam starts softly, turning enough so he can look at the side of his brother’s head. “I just … tell me what happened?”  
  
“I told you before we left, everything’s fine.”  
  
“Yeah, I know you did. But what … did he say anything? What does that mean, everything’s fine?”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “It means … it means everything’s fine!” he snaps. “Dad didn’t say a damn thing. M’pretty fuckin’ sure he didn’t even notice anything at all. The only thing we talked about was the hunt. And we hardly even talked about that.”  
  
Sam relaxes a little, some of the tension flowing out of his frame. It feels like he’s been holding his breath ever since he first recognized the rumble of Dad’s truck. He still wants to know if everything is okay with them but he knows that he’s already pushing Dean and the last thing he wants is to actually get into a fight with his brother right now. Besides, he honestly doesn’t know how to even ask that question without sounding like a freaking lovesick girl or something.  
  
Still, now that the threat of their secret being exposed is gone, at least this time, Sam goes back to being pissed that Dad had to show up and end the first weekend Sam was going to have alone with his brother in way too long. They always find ways to be together when Dad’s around, like Dean driving Sam to school and parking in a shadowy alley before he drops Sam off, fevered kisses smeared against eager lips and hands shoved into each other’s pants, getting each other off quick and dirty and then murmuring that they’ll have more time next time, but more and more lately that’s ceasing to be true. And it isn’t the same as being alone together for three whole days. Sam was really, really looking forward to it, and it really is just like Dad to get in the way.  
  
“We should’ve actually … you know,” Sam mumbles bitterly. “Then at least we’d have gotten to do it once before he came back and screwed everything up.”  
  
“If we’d fucked, it would’ve taken longer, and then he would’ve walked in while I was balls-deep instead of after we were already done,” Dean reasons, his voice dark and serious. “_That _would have screwed everything up. We got lucky.”  
  
“Doesn’t feel like it.” Sam knows he’s being a brat, but he can’t help it. He was so excited to spend a whole weekend alone with Dean, and then Dad had to go and ruin it. Sam knows it’s irrational, but there’s a part of him that can’t help wondering if Dad did it on purpose.  
  
To Sam’s surprise, Dean doesn’t snark back at him or tell him off for being mad at their father. Instead, he exhales quietly, and reaches over to squeeze Sam’s thigh. He rubs his thumb briefly over the inseam of Sam’s jeans before he lets his hand fall away.  
  
“I know,” he says softly. “The job’s gotta come first, though, right?”  
  
Sam shrugs and doesn’t answer. His honest answer would be no. He’s never liked hunting that much, and he’s never been nearly as obsessed with revenge as his dad and brother are. He knows what happened to Mom, and he hates it, but Sam was only a baby when she died. It’s hard to be passionate about avenging the death of someone he doesn’t even remember. And truthfully, as much as he knows what they do is important, sometimes Sam has moments of selfishness and wishes Dean would put _them_ first. Dean probably never will, though, so Sam tries not to dwell on it too much.  
  
Sam loses track of how long they drive, following at a safe distance behind Dad’s big, black truck. Eventually Dean gets Sam chatting about school, and then a movie they watched on TV together last week, and then that time a few years ago when Dad left them at Uncle Bobby’s for three weeks and he took them go-karting. Dean makes him laugh, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles over at Sam, and for a while Sam forgets to be mad. Next to sex, being alone with Dean is Sam’s favorite thing. He loves that they can talk about everything and nothing, that it’s easy and fun and simple like it always has been. Sam doesn’t know what he would do if they ever lost that.  
  
They follow Dad into the parking lot of a run-down motel outside Topeka, and Sam doesn’t mention how close they are to the place they lived before everything went wrong, because he doesn’t need to. Dean avoids Kansas like a disease. He never drives through it unless he has to, and when he does have to, he gets dark and moody until he crosses back over the state line. Sam wishes he knew how to make his brother feel better, but he doesn’t. He wonders what it would take for Dean to consider going back to Lawrence. Somehow, Sam suspects Dean never will.  
  
They watch as Dad goes into the office and books a room – Sam’s silently praying for two so he can at least sleep next to Dean without Dad’s eagle-eyes watching over them – but he only comes back out of the office with a single key, and Sam’s heart sinks.  
  
“Sorry, kiddo,” Dean mumbles, knowing what Sam was thinking, as he puts the Impala into park and slides the keys out of the ignition.  
  
Sam doesn’t bother complaining about it. It would just lead to them fighting, and the situation is already bad enough. The last thing Sam wants is Dean pissed at him on top of everything else. They unload their bags and trail obediently after Dad into room number seven, and Sam closes the door behind them and watches tiredly as his dad and brother lay maps and newspaper clippings out on the little round table. Sam’s already sick of this hunt and it hasn’t even started yet.  
  
“So you think it’s a group?” Dean asks, and Dad nods.  
  
“At least four. It’s hard to know for sure. I’m heading down to the library, see if I can dig up a record on how many kids there were.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and occupies himself with picking at a hangnail on his right hand. Of course the two of them discussed details while Sam was in the shower earlier, and of course Dean chose not to catch Sam up in the car. It’s so typical it borders on cliché. The two of them continue to chat about strategy in clipped, tense voices, and Sam stands there like a fly on the wall and waits for one of them to notice that no one’s remembered to fill him in on exactly what they’re hunting a group _of_.  
  
After a while, Dad looks over at Sam and says, “You’ll go with your brother, Sam. Don’t even think about separating, they’ll be pissed if they figure out we’re onto them.”  
  
“What will?” Sam asks, obnoxiously loud.  
  
Dean frowns at him. “What?”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes again and spreads his arms out, sarcastically snapping, “I guess no one’s gonna bother to tell me what we’re hunting? Werewolves? Shapeshifters? Killer bunnies?”  
  
“Sam,” Dad begins hotly, but for once, Dean actually cuts in and backs Sam up.  
  
“Shit, sorry Sammy, I forgot.”  
  
“He isn’t up to speed?” Dad asks raising an accusatory eyebrow at Sam, as if it’s somehow Sam’s fault that no one thought to tell him what’s going on.  
  
“I’ll catch him up on the way.” Dean shoots Dad a brief, apologetic glance over his shoulder, and then he grabs the keys and a piece of paper where Dad scribbled what Sam assumes is an address, and walks over, nudging Sam out the door before he can get another word in.  
  
They’re back in the Impala and pulling out of the parking lot while Sam still has no idea what’s going on. It probably shouldn’t be surprising that that his Dad and brother still insist on treating him like he’s six instead of sixteen, and in a way it isn’t, but it bugs Sam anyway. He sighs exasperatedly and stares at Dean across the bench seat. “Well?”  
  
“It’s a family,” Dean says, distractedly, as he squints at street signs they pass.  
  
“A family of _what_?!” Sam all but yells, his frustration bubbling over, and Dean jumps a little at the outburst, but it has the desired effect.  
  
“Sorry. Um, spirits. Ghosts, whatever.” Dean locates the street he was searching for and makes a left at a four-way stop. “Dad thought it was just one, that’s why he started off on his own. These guys, like a hundred years ago, were mad at each other for whatever reason, Dad didn’t say, and one of them burned the other one’s house down with him inside it. So then he comes back every year during the week he died, and goes around killing people, trying to find the ancestors of the guy who killed him. So Dad showed up here and then it turned out the guy’s whole family was in the house when it burned down, so now they all go around killing people and he didn’t wanna take a bunch of spirits on by himself.”  
  
“So now we get to do it with him. Good times,” Sam mumbles, but his sarcasm is only half-hearted. As much as he isn’t crazy about hunting, he isn’t crazy about innocent people dying either. “So where are we going?”  
  
“The guy had at least one kid that wasn’t in the house. I guess the oldest one was already married and moved out and everything, so we’re going to see his … I don’t know. Great, great, great granddaughter.”  
  
For what feels like the fiftieth time today, Sam rolls his eyes. He has no evidence, but he’d bet every dollar he has to his name that the reason Dad sent him and Dean to visit the granddaughter instead of going himself is because she’s young and pretty and he’s expecting Dean to charm answers out of her. And Sam will get to sit there like an idiot while the guy he loves hits on someone else. Great. This weekend just keeps getting better by the second.  
  
By the time they pull up at a small white house with green trim, Sam’s in an even worse mood than he was before. And he was right, too. The girl who opens the door for them is slender, blonde, pretty, and in her early twenties like Dean. She smiles coyly at him almost instantly, as if being a flirt is second nature to her and not an act she has to put on, and Sam tries not to gag.  
  
“Can I help you?” she asks, twirling a strand of golden hair between her perfectly manicured fingers and dragging her lower lip between her teeth. She blinks doe-eyes up at Dean, who leans against the doorframe and grins right back at her.  
  
“I hope so,” he drawls, all easy Dean Winchester charm and Sam thinks he might’ve thrown up in his mouth a little.  
  
He spent so long before they finally got their shit together and figured things out watching Dean with girls, his heart aching and his stomach rolling, thinking that he’d never have that part of Dean. At first he didn’t even know he wanted it, he just knew he hated it when Dean was interested in anyone who wasn’t Sam. And now that he has it, it’s even harder to watch Dean hit on someone so blatantly, right in front of him. Sam knows it’s stupid, but it’s like watching the possibility of Dean being with someone else, kissing them, touching them, looking at them the way he looks at Sam. Mostly, Dean’s just a natural-born flirt. It’s almost like breathing to him, just a part of his personality. But since they’ve been together, he hasn’t been doing it so obviously. At least not when Sam’s around. Which makes him wonder if Dean still does it when he _isn’t_ around. The thought kind of makes him want to be sick all over again. Fuck. He really needs to stop thinking about this shit.  
  
Sam watches as the girl melts even more and – not like he really needed it – he now has one more thing to be pissed off at their dad about. Granted, Dad doesn’t know that standing here watching this is like swallowing razor blades for Sam, but he still feels justified in his anger.  
  
Since Sam really, really doesn’t give two shits about this whole God-forsaken hunt, he mostly checks out while Dean charms his way – or well, _their_ way, once he remembers that Sam exists – in the door. The girl, _Oh, call me Amber_, leads them into the living room and Sam has to remind himself not to sit too close to Dean like he usually would, even before they started sleeping together. Sam half-listens as his brother spins some bullshit story about being a university student and writing a paper on local families that have been around for generations and calls her sweetheart and darlin’ , and she blushes and bats her eyes and predictably runs and gets the family tree for them. Seriously. Who the fuck has a family tree just lying around? It’s like she was waiting for Dean to show up. He even manages to get where they’re all buried at out of her, without even trying. If Sam wasn’t about three seconds from gouging his own eyes out with a dull butter knife, he’d actually be impressed by his brother’s ability to bullshit his way into, or out of, anything.  
  
She pouts when Dean tells her they have to leave, but Dean gives her one of those panty-melting grins of his – that Sam’s really embarrassed to admit work on him as well – and thanks her for her time. Sam doesn’t miss her slipping Dean her phone number. Just like he doesn’t miss his brother pocketing it and the promise in his eyes that he’ll use it.  
  
Dean’s all smiles when they get back into the Impala, grinning over at Sam, completely oblivious as usual to the fact that Sam’s about to blow. Sam loves his brother, faults and all, but sometimes it’s too much and it amazes him how truly clueless Dean can be when he’s usually so observant about every-damn-thing else. Sam sulks all the way back to the motel, completely aware that he’s being a baby but too irritated to care, but Dean’s too busy riding the high of getting the information for Dad and chomping at the bit to get to the actual action of the hunt. On more than one occasion, Sam has actually been concerned about his brother’s unhealthy glee at salting and burning some poor bastard’s bones. This is one of those times.  
  
Surprisingly – but then again, not – Dad’s not back when they pull up to the motel. There’s a part of Sam that’s longing to make good use of their time alone together, but even if he wasn’t in a shitty mood, he’d never risk doing anything while not knowing when exactly Dad’s going to be back. But it still adds to the list of things that are going wrong when they walk into the empty room and still have to keep their distance.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
Sam jerks and his eyes snap to Dean. The little-boy-grin is gone and now he just looks annoyed. And by the sound of it, he’s said Sam’s name at least a few times.  
  
“What?” Sam sighs as he flops down onto the mattress of the bed furthest from the door.  
  
“Dude, I said your name like ten times.”  
  
Sam knows that’s an exaggeration  
  
“What the hell’re you thinkin’ about so hard?”  
  
“Nothing,” Sam mutters. “What’d you want?”  
  
“Well, at first, I wanted to know if you wanted to help me get started on all the info Amber gave us.”  
  
“Not really,” he grumbles.  
  
“Okay,” Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before dragging his hand down over his mouth. “What’s crawled up your ass and died now? Or is this still about Dad coming back early?”  
  
Sam opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Dean just how much of an idiot he is, when he hears Dad’s truck pull up outside. He can’t even be bothered to stifle the groan that pours out of him as he marvels, once again, at their father’s timing today. Dean frowns and kicks lightly at one of Sam’s feet where it’s hanging off the edge of the bed.  
  
“C’mon, dude,” he mutters. “Knock it off, alright?”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam sighs, staring at the ceiling, not even bothering to try to stop acting like a brat. Once he and Dean are alone again – whenever the hell that might be – he knows that they’re going to get into it about this but he just honestly can’t bring himself to care. He can’t help but wonder how Dean would feel if he had to watch Sam flirting with someone else. Would he even give a shit? Would it tear his insides up like it does Sam’s? Would he feel like his heart is being squeezed and his lungs twisting until he can’t breathe? Would he hurt like Sam does?  
  
Dad swoops into the room, and then it’s all names and dates and burial plot locations and strategy and Sam’s there for it all, hears every word they’re saying, but none of it really registers. All he seems to be able to think about was that last look Dean gave Amber, wondering if it was all for show or if he really, truly meant the promise in that dark emerald gaze. Sam doesn’t _think_ Dean would ever actually do anything with her, or with anyone else, but he doesn’t like that he isn’t sure. He knows what Dean used to be like, a different hook-up in every town they rolled through, and Sam knows it makes him stupid and girly but he wants that part of Dean’s life to be over so badly it hurts.  
  
“So we’ll go after dark,” Dad says to Dean, completely ignoring Sam like he almost always does. In this family, during a hunt, Sam is an afterthought. It bugs him but it’s always been like that.  
  
Dad and Dean settle down at the rickety table and start cleaning weapons, still discussing the details of the case in low murmurs. They’re two peas in a freaking pod. Sam knows how stupid it is, he really does, but he can’t help the twinge of jealousy that surges through him, even now. Even though he gave up truly trying to bond with Dad – or even really get along with him – years ago, deep down, it still kinda hurts that he’ll never have the same kind of relationship with their father that Dean does, that he’ll never see that same look of pride flash across Dad’s face when he’s looking at Sam. In addition to that, though, is the need that he has sometimes to be the center of Dean’s attention, no matter who else is around. He kinda hates himself for it but he really can’t help it. And he blames Dean for it anyway. Dean’s always treated him like he’s the center of his world so it’s a little confusing and unsettling when he pays so much attention to someone else.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes to himself and shakes his head. All this is starting to get a little ridiculous. If Dean had any idea of the shit that’s been going through his head all day, he’d spend the next indeterminable amount of time teasing him relentlessly for it.  
  
Dad and Dean keep doing what they’re doing, pre-hunt preparation and all that shit, still not really paying attention to the fact that Sam’s even there, sitting in the corner, well aware that he’s pouting like the little kid that he keeps insisting to his brother that he’s not. Sam spends most of the time trying – and failing miserably – to not watch his brother’s hands as he helps Dad clean the guns, those thick, strong, capable fingers that feel so good on his skin, that take him apart down to his most basic level and build him back up again, slick with gun oil and moving methodically, almost gracefully, as he disassembles and cleans and reassembles gun after gun. He tries not to watch his brother’s mouth move, plump lips pulling up into a smile or a smirk at something Dad is saying, the way he licks his lips all the freaking time, chewing absently on the bottom one as he concentrates on the task at hand. Sam never really sat and thought about it before – doesn’t usually have the time to do absolutely nothing but focus on Dean without his big brother’s all knowing, all-consuming gaze on him as well – but damn-near everything his brother does, he does it sensually. Or maybe Sam’s just a horny teenager and his brother’s stupidly hot and he’s still pissed off that he can’t do anything about it.  
  
After what feels equivalent to a small eternity, the sun sets and Dad and Dean pack everything up. They hit up a diner before heading out and Sam sits in the corner of the booth, Dean right next to him – close enough that their thighs are touching under the table and he can smell Dean, that familiar scent of leather and gun oil and sweat – and tries to choke down a chicken sandwich while their waitress predictably falls all over herself flirting with Dean. And of course, because Dad’s there and Sam is convinced the universe hates him, Dean flirts back; the damned smirk of his and lazy drawl that has her eating out of the palm of his hand. Before they leave, he watches as his brother gets yet another phone number and Dean once again shoves it in his pocket. Not only that, but underneath the jealousy that burns like fire through his veins, Sam is something like indignant that no one ever pays any attention to _him_ when Dean’s around. When Sam was twelve it made sense, but he’s sixteen now and yeah, maybe he doesn’t look like Dean but he’s definitely not _un_attractive, so every now and then it would be nice if a girl at least pretended to notice him. But they don’t. They all flock to Dean like magnets. Seriously, if this hunt doesn’t end soon, Sam thinks he’s going to have a stroke or an aneurism or something.  
  
Unlike the last time he hunted multiple spirits with Dad – when he ended up getting hurt and things finally blew up between him and Dean and forced them to face their less-than-brotherly feelings for each other – this one actually pretty much goes off without a hitch. There’s a lot of digging involved – five graves in total – and Dean’s eyes light up like it is freaking Christmas when they torch the corpses. Sam’s job is to keep a look-out, both for cops and for the spirits to show up, but they don’t so instead he watches Dean. Sam hates to admit it but Dean looks hot as hell by firelight, the flames dancing over his skin, his eyes sparkling, and the contours of his face thrown into stunning shadow.  
  
It’s damn-near sunrise by the time they finish up and head back to the motel, taking turns in the shower to get rid of grave dirt and the smell of burning flesh. As youngest, of course Sam’s last, and he takes a quick, mostly cold shower. By the time he’s done, Dad’s passed out on the bed closest to the door, snoring like a freaking chainsaw, and Dean’s sitting up against the headboard of the other bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt. Sam falters, freezing at the foot of the bed, not sure how the sleeping arrangement is supposed to work this time. Since they both hit their teens, mostly, if they can afford it, Dad will get two rooms so that Sam and Dean don’t have to cram into the same bed. Cramming into the same bed isn’t a problem now as far as he’s concerned, but he’s not sure that’s a great idea with their Dad three short feet away.  
  
Dean looks at him, one eyebrow quirked. “What?” he whispers, mindful as always of Dad. He may be asleep, but it doesn’t take much to wake him up.  
  
“How … where the hell am I sleepin’?” Sam whispers back.  
  
Dean frowns at him, confused. “With me.”  
  
“You think that’s a good idea? With …” Sam gestures at Dad’s back.  
  
“S’not like it’s the first time,” Dean reasons, and he’s right about that.  
  
Sam was worried, the first time they had to share a bed after they started up whatever-the-hell it is they do, that they’d find their way into each others arms in the middle of the night without meaning to and out themselves. They didn’t, though, although Sam barely slept a minute that night and he doesn’t think Dean did either. Still, tonight feels different somehow. Watching Dean practically talking the panties off two separate girls today, Sam feels like his subconscious – and, really, his just-plain conscious – might be looking for a little reassurance. He doesn’t think it’s over-reacting to be concerned that he might roll into Dean’s body while asleep and forget to move before morning. And Dad always wakes up first.  
  
“I just … we shouldn’t,” Sam says. He doesn’t want to tell Dean the real reason because he doesn’t want to get into the whole thing right now. Not with Dad lying not even ten feet from them.  
  
“Okay.” Dean draws the word out and gives Sam a funny look.  
  
“What?” Sam asks, instantly defensive.  
  
“You’ve been weird today, man. What’s going on?” Dean asks, although he doesn’t sound concerned. He sounds annoyed, like Sam being upset is a hindrance to him, and that reignites Sam’s own irritation.  
  
“I’m fine,” he grumbles, turning away from Dean and pulling his hoodie over his head.  
  
“Clearly,” Dean mutters sarcastically.  
  
Sam glares at him. Even with how much of a natural flirt as Dean is, it can’t possibly have escaped his attention that he got two sets of digits today, and that Sam was right there watching while it happened. So either he doesn’t realize how much his flirting bothers Sam - which, come on, how could he not realize - or worse, he just doesn’t care. Either way, he’s an ass.  
  
“Whatever.” Sam doesn’t look at him as he climbs into the bed beside Dad, and he rolls onto his side facing away from his jerk of a brother. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him for a while, but he doesn’t turn around and eventually Dean gives up, shuts the light off, and lies down in his own bed. Sam listens as Dean’s breathing slows and evens out, the ghost of those breaths on his cheek where they should be, and it takes him a long, long time to fall asleep.  
  
____  
  
Dad drops them back off in Lincoln, which Sam’s happy about because he really didn’t want to have to change schools again so soon. Bouncing around so much makes getting good grades way harder than it should be. But then Dad takes off again almost immediately, and Sam’s torn about that. As a general rule, he’s always happier when Dad leaves them alone, but at the moment he isn’t super excited about the prospect of being alone with Dean. Mostly because Sam doesn’t actually want to tell his brother what was bothering him so much yesterday. Dean will just point out that he flirted with the first girl for information, and then second to keep up appearances because Dad was there, and that Sam has nothing to worry about, and Sam will remember that he’s right and end up feeling stupid.  
  
For maybe an hour, though, Dean leaves him alone. He busies himself with something or other, Sam can hear him puttering around but he doesn’t leave the bedroom so he doesn’t know specifics, and he lets Sam sit on their bed with his school books and attempt to study for the Trig test on Wednesday. It doesn’t really work, he’s too distracted for triangles. And then eventually Dean peeks around the door at him with a hesitant look in his eyes, and Sam signs and resigns himself to the fact that this is going to happen.  
  
“Can I come in?” Dean asks.  
  
Sam shrugs. “It’s your room too, you don’t have to ask me.”  
  
It clearly isn’t the answer Dean was looking for, because he rolls his eyes, but he steps into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“So you’re still PMSing, then.”  
  
Sam glares at the back of his head. “Shut up, no I’m not.”  
  
“Okay, so then you’re mad at me? For something I didn’t even know I did?”  
  
“Well you should!” Sam cries.  
  
Dean turns to face him, looking just as angry as Sam is. “Well, I don’t! And I asked you two times yesterday what was up your ass and you didn’t wanna talk about it. So what the fuck, Sam? What am I supposed to do with that?”  
  
“Nothing. You’re not supposed to do a damn thing,” Sam mumbles, shoving his books aside and heaving himself off the bed. He storms out of the room, completely aware that he’s acting like he’s about six years old, and hears Dean trailing after him.  
  
“So you’re not gonna tell me? You’re just gonna be all pissed at me and not tell me why?”  
  
Sam doesn’t answer. He goes into the kitchen and wrenches the fridge open, rooting around in it for some food he isn’t even hungry enough to actually want.  
  
Dean sighs, and then his voice is softer as he says, “Look, Sammy … I’m sorry, okay? For whatever I did.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes for a moment. Suddenly the anger cools a little, and he feels like as much of a dick as he thought Dean was. “Don’t do that.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Apologize for something when you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” He turns around and looks at Dean, wishing he hadn’t made such a big deal out of the whole thing. He feels just as stupid as he predicted he would.  
  
“Then why don’t you clue me in.”  
  
Sam exhales heavily and leans back against the peeling countertop. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Dean steps tentatively toward him and trails his fingers lightly down Sam’s arm.  
  
“C’mon,” he says, crowding in close to Sam’s space so Sam can smell his skin.  
  
“I just … it’s probably dumb,” Sam mumbles.  
  
Dean grins. “Yeah. It probably is. Tell me anyway.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes – which is probably the exact response Dean was going for – and drops his eyes to Dean’s chest. Or more specifically, the amulet he gave Dean what feels like a million years ago. “You’re just gonna make fun’a me,” Sam mutters, glancing up at Dean through his lashes.  
  
“I wouldn’t,” Dean argues, mock-outraged. Sam rolls his eyes again and actually outright glares at his brother this time. “Ok, so maybe. But still. Tell me.”  
  
Sam huffs a sigh and his gaze shifts away again, unable to actually look at Dean. “I just … those two girls yesterday…”  
  
“Aw, Sammy,” Dean coos. “Were you jealous?”  
  
“Damnit, Dean!” Sam huffs, pushing passed him to pace around the small kitchen. “I knew you’d just make some kinda joke. And it’s not funny.”  
  
“Whoa,” Dean mutters, grabbing his wrist to stop him from stalking out of the kitchen. “Are you serious right now?” he asks incredulously.  
  
“I … yes! Okay? Yes, ‘m serious,” Sam blurts out. “And … yes, I was jealous,” he adds softly, barely above a whisper.  
  
And like he knew Dean would, his brother shakes his head and rolls his eyes, saying almost word-for-word what he knew Dean would say. “You know I had’ta get the information for the case outta Amber, and the chick at the diner … Dad was right there, Sam. What the hell’d you want me to do?”  
  
And Sam knows all this. Hell, he knew it yesterday, but it doesn’t change the fact that it freaking hurts. And the fact that Dean didn’t even realize what Sam was upset about makes it about a million times worse.  
  
“Just… never mind,” Sam mutters, trying to shake off the hold Dean still has on his wrist.  
  
“Oh, no,” Dean frowns, shaking his head. “You started this, you don’t get to just run away.”  
  
“I didn’t wanna talk about it!” Sam cries out. “You’re the one who pushed.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve been actin’ like an asshole since Dad showed up yesterday. You’ve been bitchy and won’t talk to me, so yeah, I pushed. I wanted to know what it was you think I did wrong this time.”  
  
“Well, now you know,” Sam grits out. “So you can let me go now.”  
  
Dean tightens his grip just slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to let Sam know that he’s not letting go anytime soon. “What exactly did you think I was gonna do? Did’ya think I was gonna sleep with either of them? Is that what this is about?”  
  
“No,” Sam sighs, his shoulders slumping. Dean scoffs slightly and Sam glances up at him, shaking his head. “Really, no, I didn’t,” he says softly. “But I just … it sucks watchin’ it, Dean. And the fact that you don’t even realize how it makes me feel …” Sam trails off, his gaze dropping to the floor between them. “It just … it hurt,” he mutters lamely.  
  
Dean sighs softly and tugs on Sam’s wrist slightly, urging him closer. Once they’re standing together, chest to chest, Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s waist and drops a kiss to the top of his bent head. “C’mon, baby boy,” Dean urges softly. “You know I’d never do anything like that. What’s this about?”  
  
Sam finally looks up and shakes his head. “You still really don’t get it, do you?” he asks quietly, most of the anger and fire melted away by the heat of his brother’s touch and the fact that Sam’s just tired and honestly doesn’t want to deal with this.  
  
“’m tryin’ to,” Dean answers around a shrug.  
  
“Look, I’m not stupid. I know that we have to keep up appearances and shit but do you really not understand how much it bothers me to watch it?”  
  
“Not really,” Dean admits. “I just … it doesn’t mean anything, Sam. Just some harmless flirting to get what we needed.”  
  
“How would you feel if it was me?” Sam asks before he can think better of it, his mouth just opening without the direct consent of his brain.  
  
“If what was you?”  
  
“Nothin’, never mind.”  
  
“No,” Dean interrupts. “Seriously. If what was you?”  
  
“If you had to sit there while I flirted with some chick and got her number and left her thinkin’ that I was gonna…” Sam trails off again, sighing softly. “Just ... would it bother you?”  
  
“I …” Dean sighs too. “Look, I can tell you want me to say yes, but I … I mean, you never do, so how would I know?”  
  
Sam pushes away from him. “How can you not know? If you really cared about me you’d care about the possibility of me being with somebody else!”  
  
“Yeah, of course I would, but I wouldn’t be freaked out by you just flirting! I wouldn’t think it automatically meant you were gonna sleep with someone! And come on, when a girl hands you her number? I mean, what was I supposed to do, crumple it up and throw it out right in front of her? I took them to be nice, I was never actually planning on calling!”  
  
“Remember when you found me in Flagstaff? Remember that girl?”  
  
Dean frowns for a moment, thinking about it. “I … yeah, kinda.”  
  
“She kissed me.” Sam didn’t tell Dean about that at the time, but now he wants to hurt him, to make Dean feel the way he does. “She pushed me on the ground and she laid on top of me and she kissed me. And it wasn’t, like, an awkward first kiss, either. It was a real one.”  
  
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head a little. “Sammy, I … yeah, okay, that sucks. I wish that hadn’t happened. But I’ve been with other people, I know what it feels like with them. And I know the difference when I’m with you. Nothing has ever been like it is with us, alright? I swear. You and me, it’s just … you know? Okay, so I flirt sometimes. And if it really bugs you that much, I can try not to do it in front of you anymore. But you gotta believe me. The only one I ever wanna go home with is you.”  
  
Sam’s eyes sting with tears. He plops down into a chair at the small table and leans his head down into his hands. Dean comes over, reaching out and sliding his fingers through Sam’s hair and bending down to kiss the top of his head again.  
  
“M’sorry,” Sam mutters.  
  
“This has to be about more than me sweet-talkin’ some random in a diner,” Dean says softly, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair. “C’mon, kiddo. Talk to me.”  
  
Sam shrugs pitifully. “I just … I liked you, Dean. For a really long time before I even understood what I was feeling. And I had to watch as you paraded girl after girl into whatever dump we were staying in, and you looked at them and touched them in a way you didn’t with me. And then you went into a bedroom with them and I had to listen to it, to know that they were giving you something that made you really happy, something you couldn’t get from me.”  
  
Dean moves in just a little closer, and pulls Sam’s head sideways to rest against his stomach.  
  
“You always had this stupid smile on your face when you came back out, and I felt like no matter what I did I never made you look like that. And it just … it hurt. Okay? When we were kids, it was always just us. And then we grew up and suddenly I wasn’t enough for you anymore. I guess it kinda takes me back there, when you …”  
  
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Dean gets it anyway. He sinks down to his knees and pulls Sam against his chest, wrapping his arms around Sam’s back. Sam melts into him, soaking up the comfort his brother’s arms have always offered and pushing his face into Dean’s neck.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, kissing the side of Sam’s face. “If I knew it bothered you so much back then … I didn’t understand what I felt either. You were so young. And you are way more than enough for me, okay? Never worry about that again. You’re everything.”  
  
Sam nods, and feels predictably stupid for blowing everything out of proportion, and for doubting his brother. Dean leans back just enough to attach his lips to Sam’s, kissing away every insecurity Sam’s ever had.  
  
“Let me make it up to you?” he murmurs.  
  
Sam’s eyes slide closed and he lets his forehead rest against Dean’s, their noses brushing and their lips close enough to share the same moist, warm air between them. “You don’t have’ta do that,” Sam whispers.  
  
“I know,” Dean says softly and Sam can hear the smile in his tone. “Maybe I just wanna.”  
  
A small smile pulls up the corners of Sam’s lips and he pulls back just enough to actually look at his brother without going cross-eyed. One of Dean’s hands slips under the hem of his t-shirt, his fingers softly rubbing up and down Sam’s spine. The feel of skin on skin, no matter how small, has always been enough to make Sam a little crazy, to make his heart start to beat a little harder against his ribcage. Dean licks his lips and Sam’s eyes drop down to track the movement, the brief flash of pink, before slowing sweeping his gaze back up to Dean’s.  
  
“C’mon,” Dean urges softly, half tugging Sam up out of the chair as he stands up. Sam nods and lets his brother pull him up as well. A little thrill shoots down Sam’s spine when he realizes that Dean’s walking him backward down the hallway to their room, his blood already starting to pump harder in his veins, heading quickly south. Dean grins at him once they’re in their room and the door is closed behind them and gently pushes him down on the mattress. There’s a part of Sam – albeit a very small part – that’s kind of worried about doing anything, afraid that Dad might show up again unexpectedly like he did yesterday. But he heard Dad tell Dean that he was heading in the opposite direction and his next lead was more than a few hours out. So the chances of it happening again are pretty damn slim.  
  
“Even though we got interrupted for a bit,” Dean murmurs, still grinning, and tugs his t-shirt off, tossing it blindly behind him, “I seem to remember something about a plan to spend the weekend together.”  
  
Sam mirrors his grin and bites down on his bottom lip, watching as all that creamy, freckle-kissed skin is revealed as Dean strips down. He honestly doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing Dean like this – naked and beautiful and all his. Once Dean’s down to just his boxers, he closes the distance between them, standing between Sam’s slightly spread legs. Sam looks up, his eyes fluttering closed for a second when Dean cards his fingers through his hair.  
  
“You’re overdressed, baby boy,” he drawls.  
  
Sam scrambles to pull his t-shirt off as well, momentarily getting tangled in the material in his haste to get naked right the hell now. Dean chuckles fondly and helps him untangle his arms and pull the shirt the rest of the way off. With a smirk, Dean plants one hand in the middle of his chest and pushes gently, urging Sam to lie back. His breath hitches when Dean’s hands slide down his chest, not stopping until he gets to the waist of Sam’s jeans. He lifts his hips when Dean pops the button and pulls down the zipper, his cock twitching when Dean pulls the denim down his legs and tosses them onto the floor with the rest of their clothes. Dean leans down, mouthing along the underside of Sam’s cock through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, and Sam shudders involuntarily. He reaches down, gripping Dean’s short hair between his fingers, his whole body lighting up under his brother’s talented mouth. Sam’s eyes flutter closed, waves of pleasure rolling around in his stomach.  
  
Dean moves up along Sam’s shaft, dampening the fabric with his tongue, and then laving it along the bare strip of skin above the waistband when he gets high enough. His breath is hot like a brand against Sam’s skin. He licks over to one side and nips at Sam’s hipbone, and then the other, as he hooks his thumbs under Sam’s boxers and slides them down slowly, following the material with his lips. Sam lifts his hips up to let Dean pull them all the way off, bending his knees so they’ll slip down his legs, and Dean tosses them to the floor and dives back in, licking a slow, tantalizing stripe up the underside of Sam’s erection. Sam moans, his eyes closing again, and it’s way harder than it should be to open them. Dean is way too good at this, but mostly it’s this good _because_ it’s Dean.  
  
He drops down to his knees and tugs Sam’s body a little closer, picking up his cock with one hand and letting a string of spit dribble down it before he takes the head into his mouth and sucks gently around it.  
  
“Fuck,” Sam mumbles, his head falling back on the pillow.  
  
Dean slides his mouth down on Sam’s cock, and it’s work but Sam lifts his head up to watch his stiff flesh disappear between Dean’s slick lips. Dean looks at him, his green eyes dark with lust, and he locks his gaze with Sam’s as he bobs his head slowly. Sam’s so turned on he can barely see straight, but even as the muscles in his arms tremble he keeps himself propped up on his elbows. Dean’s tongue moves in an unpredictable zig-zag pattern over the bundles of nerve endings and Sam’s mouth falls open on a silent moan and it’s all he can do not to fuck up into Dean’s mouth. Dean wraps a hand around the inches of Sam he can’t get into his mouth and strokes him slowly, squeezing just hard enough to make Sam’s head spin.  
  
Sam shivers when Dean digs his tongue into the spot under the head of Sam’s cock, and can’t help the embarrassingly breathy sound that escapes from his lips. Dean’s eyes close like it’s the most gorgeous noise he’s ever heard, but then the only bobs his head a few more times before he lifts it off Sam with a wet pop. Sam groans unhappily, the cool air an unpleasant contrast to the warmth of Dean’s mouth. Dean chuckles and presses an apologetic kiss to Sam’s hip, and then he pulls his own underwear off and crawls on top of Sam. Sam shifts awkwardly up the bed to rest his head on the pillows, and Dean goes with him, smashing their lips together. Sam tastes himself on his brother’s tongue and it’s been nearly a year but he still hasn’t been able to get over how hot that is. Dean drops his body down, blanketing Sam’s with it, and rolls against him so their bare cocks rub together. Sam sees stars behind his eyelids.  
  
“D-Dean,” he stutters, and Dean moans beautifully and his cock twitches against Sam’s. “What?” Sam asks, amused even through the thick fog of arousal.  
  
Dean shakes his head, licking at Sam’s bottom lip for a moment before he answers. “Just … love the way you say that.”  
  
“Oh.” Sam kisses Dean deeper, swirling his tongue in slow, lazy circles around Dean’s, and then whispers his brother’s name again, and Dean responds with a breathy, “Fuck.”  
  
Sam can’t help smiling. He rolls his hips up into Dean’s, instinct seeking out that pleasure again, but his brain is stuck on Dean’s reaction to Sam saying his name.  
  
“It … uh. It was your first word,” Dean tells him after a minute, dipping down to press small kisses along Sam’s neck.  
  
Sam blinks, letting that information sink in. Then he cups Dean’s face in his hands and makes his brother look at him. “I – really? How come I never knew that?”  
  
Dean shrugs. He settles on his elbows so he’s pressed completely against Sam, and rests his forehead against Sam’s, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly.  
  
“S’like I’ve been in love with you since the minute we met,” Sam whispers, emotion gripping him tight in the chest, and Dean makes a funny noise above him like maybe this is hitting him as hard as it is Sam. There’s no other way Sam can look at it other than what the truth is – that since the day he was born, the most important point on his compass has been Dean.  
  
“Want you to fuck me,” Dean murmurs, and it takes Sam’s sluggish, arousal-saturated brain a minute to figure out what those words mean. He knows them all individually, but strung together in that order, it takes a moment for them to make sense.  
  
“You do?”  
  
Dean nods, leaving his face resting right next to Sam’s so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.  
  
Sam can’t deny what the thought does to him. His stomach clenches and his cock jumps and his brain clouds over with how much he wants that too, how much he’s wanted it since the first time they kissed, even though he’s always promised Dean what they’ve done is enough for him. And it _is_ enough. Sam loves the feeling of Dean inside him; he would happily die with that being the only way they do this. Dean filling him up, wrapped around him, it sews up all the little holes in Sam that have been there since before he can remember. Sometimes, in his sappier moments, Sam thinks he and Dean were born with only one soul between them, and neither one of them can ever be quite complete without the other. But underneath all that, Sam’s still a guy, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t want to know what it feels like.  
  
Even still, he finds himself shaking his head. “Dean, you don’t have to.”  
  
“Maybe I want to,” Dean says, echoing his words from earlier.  
  
“I don’t want you to,” Sam answers, and then when Dean pulls back briefly to look at him, his eyebrows are stitched together and his expression is overflowing with so much pain and insecurity Sam thinks his heart might actually be breaking. “No,” he says quickly, pulling his brother down for a deep kiss. “No, that’s not what I meant.”  
  
Dean doesn’t say anything else, but he kisses Sam back, and Sam hates himself for making Dean feel whatever he was just feeling to put that look on his beautiful face. Sam isn’t stupid. He knows underneath all Dean’s bravado, how deeply sensitive his brother is, and how many emotional issues he struggles with daily that he’ll probably never voice out loud. For a minute or two Sam just kisses him, pushing his hips up into Dean’s so Dean can physically feel how much Sam wants him, wants _them_. Then he keeps his voice gentle when he says, “I just … I don’t want the first time you do that to be part of an apology. Or because you think you owe me something.”  
  
Dean huffs affectionately and calls Sam a drama queen, predictably turning it into a joke to take the weight out of the moment. But then he rolls slightly off Sam, some of his weight falling to the mattress beside Sam but staying pressed up against him, and rests his head on the pillow so close to Sam’s that he’s blurry in Sam’s eyes. Sam closes them, sliding his palm over the rough stubble of Dean’s cheek and breathes his brother in.  
  
“I’ve been thinkin’ about it,” Dean says softly, and Sam can tell how reluctant his brother is to say that; how difficult it is for him to even get the words out. He wraps his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and squeezes it comfortingly. “Seems like a good moment, you know? I just … I want …”  
  
“What?” Sam pushes gently.  
  
“Wanna show you I’m in this just as much as you,” Dean says, and Sam’s heart skips a beat. It’s as close to an _I love you_ as he’s ever gotten from Dean, and truthfully, it’s about a hundred times better. Sam knows that Dean loves him, in every connotation of the word, but knowing that Dean’s really, truly in this all the way with him, that he’s as invested in it as Sam is, means so much more. And honestly, until all this came up – the girls and the flirting and all the shit that Sam’s been feeling the last few days – he didn’t even realize that he’d been worrying about that. But like always, Dean knows him well enough to read between the lines and to know what Sam needs, and needs to hear, before Sam even does.  
  
A ton of emotions hit Sam all at once and he scoots impossibly closer to his brother, inhaling Dean’s comforting scent – the scent of safety, of love, of home – and closes his eyes for a moment. He wants this, of course he does, and he’s thought about it before, but it was always in the abstract. The thought of actually doing it kind of freaks him out a little. He knows what to do, he’s been on the receiving end enough times to know the mechanics of it, but the thought of hurting Dean – or worse yet, disappointing him somehow – makes it a little terrifying. Sam only theoretically knows what to do. If he’s bad at it, if he doesn’t make it good like Dean did for him the first time, Sam might never forgive himself.  
  
Dean nuzzles against the side of his face, the tip of his nose brushing across Sam’s cheek, and Sam reopens his eyes, pulling back enough to look at Dean fully. There’s a raw, open, almost vulnerable look in Dean’s eyes – emotions that he’ll only ever show with Sam and even then it’s rare – and it breaks something loose inside of him. He realizes with startling clarity that he’s not the only one at a loss here, that Dean’s stepping outside his normal comfort zone as well and is probably as freaked out as Sam is by the role reversal. It soothes his insecurities and makes him realize it doesn’t matter if he’s out of his element, because Dean is too.  
  
Sam licks his lips and leans forward, kissing Dean again, their tongues sliding together with practiced ease. Determined not to over-think things anymore, Sam gently urges Dean onto his back as they continue to kiss, one hand still lightly gripping the back of his brother’s neck, the other sliding down his side, fingers curling over the jut of his hipbone.  
  
Sam slowly ends the kiss, pulling back reluctantly, his stomach swooping with that familiar tingly feeling when he looks down at Dean; his brother’s lips kiss-swollen and spit-slick and his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. Dean’s beautiful under normal, everyday circumstances but like this, there honestly just aren’t words to describe just how truly breathtaking he is. Dean quirks an eyebrow when Sam continues just staring for a moment, his lips parting to say something, but before he can, Sam dips down and presses another quick kiss to his lips.  
  
“Hold on, okay?” Sam asks softly.  
  
Dean nods, his brow furrowing. Sam pushes himself up off the mattress and kneels down to dig through his duffel, searching for the lube that he hid in there when they were packing up yesterday. He can feel the weight of Dean’s gaze on him almost like a phantom caress, the sensation making him shiver slightly, heat zinging down his spine. When he stands back up and turns around, tube held in one hand, understanding floods across Dean’s features and Sam freezes for a moment, watching his brother watch him. For just a second, Sam panics inside, afraid that Dean’s about to change his mind. But then Dean shakes his head.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy,” he urges softly, holding one hand out toward him.  
  
Sam smiles and crosses the room again, his empty hand sliding into Dean’s, letting his brother pull him back down onto the mattress. He kind of stalls out when he gets there, though, out on a limb and not sure what to do at this point. He’s always had Dean’s lead to follow and he’s kind of lost without it.  
  
Dean licks his lips and grabs the lube, dropping it onto the mattress behind Sam, then pulls Sam back into his arms. Sam sighs contently against his lips, their arms and legs tangling together, lined up from knees to shoulders, slotting together perfectly. Sam’s always been amazed by the way they just seem to fit together, like they were made solely for each other. He feels safe in Dean’s arms; like he belongs here.  
  
Sam rocks his hips forward, moaning softly into the kiss when their cocks brush together. Dean echoes the sound and thrusts forward as well, picking up a loose rhythm that matches the slide of their lips and tongues. For a few long moments, Sam loses himself in the kiss, in the sweet bursts of friction against his hard length, and Dean’s arms around him, strong and protective. He doesn’t even register Dean reaching behind him and grabbing the lube; pulls away with a gasp when Dean gently grabs his hand and pours some of the chilly, clear liquid over his fingers.  
  
“You sure about this?” Sam asks quietly, because he has to. But Dean nods.  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers, and there’s honesty in his darkened green eyes.  
  
Sam nudges Dean onto his back, crawling over him and kissing his way down Dean’s chest as he knee-walks backwards between Dean’s legs. He tugs a nipple between his teeth, licks along the bumps of Dean’s abs, trails his nose through the sparse golden hairs below Dean’s bellybutton. He nudges at Dean’s thigh with his shoulder, urging Dean to spread his legs a little more so Sam has room, and his heart skips a beat when Dean does it automatically – trusting him completely. Sam licks at the head of Dean’s leaking cock where it’s resting against his abdomen, pushing his tongue into the slit to chase the tangy flavor of him.  
  
Dean sighs a little above him, and Sam looks up at him and winks, attempting to be smooth and flirty like Dean always is but not quite sure he pulls it off. Dean just smiles at him and shakes his head fondly.  
  
Sam takes Dean’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head and then sucking around it slowly, while he trails his lube-sticky fingers over the heavy swell of Dean’s balls. He plays with them for a moment, squeezing the way Dean likes, and then he reaches down to pet along the soft skin behind them. He presses against it, smiling when Dean squirms a little. Then he circles the pad of his index finger over Dean’s hole, pushing in slowly as he lowers his head down and lets Dean’s cock slip further into his mouth.  
  
This much, they’ve done before. Sam’s pressed a finger or two into Dean countless times while he’s blowing him, and Dean always seems to like it, even though he’d probably deny it if Sam ever said that out loud. It would be a blow to his manhood or something stupid like that. But Dean always comes crazy hard when Sam sucks him and presses against his prostate at the same time, so at least Sam has that little bit of comfort to fall back on. If he can do this right, do it how Dean always does, hopefully Dean will like it. But he also knows from experience that a couple of fingers are a lot different than a cock, especially the first few times, so Sam’s still nervous.  
  
He tries to put it out of his mind as he works his finger in slowly. He pushes in and slides it out, going in just a little further each time. He keeps laving his tongue over the underside of Dean’s cock as he does, and after a moment Dean’s rocking down against his hand in a way Sam interprets as a request for a second finger. He pulls his finger out and pushes back in with two, letting Dean get used to it before he starts twisting and spreading them apart like Dean always does to him.  
  
Sam pulls off with a filthy smacking noise and asks, “You okay?”  
  
Dean nods, his eyes closed. “More,” he says softly.  
  
Sam crooks his fingers up, searching for Dean’s prostate, and Dean moans when he finds it. Sam rubs the tips of his fingers over the spongy gland, and Dean laughs breathlessly and covers his face with his hands.  
  
“Good?” Sam asks, grinning; already knowing the answer.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answers, grinning back. “C’mon, ‘nother one.”  
  
Sam pulls his hand away again, eyes scanning around for the lube for a second before he locates it and pours a little more into his palm, spreads it around his fingers. Then he lowers down to lick at the head of Dean’s cock again and pushes back into his body with three fingers. Dean hisses just a little and clenches around Sam, but Sam smears messy kisses over his cock and lets it slip into his mouth again, distracting Dean from the stretch with suction around his cock, and after a moment Dean relaxes and Sam’s able to keep pushing inside.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean mumbles, reaching down and sliding his hand through Sam’s hair, and Sam smiles up at him around his mouthful. Dean’s lips curve into a smile too, and he nods his head like he wants Sam to come closer.  
  
Sam lets Dean’s dick fall out of his mouth again, and he crawls up Dean’s body, keeping his fingers buried in Dean’s ass. Dean cups Sam’s face in his hands and pulls him down for a kiss, licking around in Sam’s mouth. Sam kisses him back, pouring all the emotion into it he can, and the angle is awkward now but he does his best to continue sliding his fingers in and out of Dean. He spreads them open on the way out, and then locates Dean’s prostate again and pushes harder against it.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean breathes into Sam’s lips.  
  
“Straight guys don’t know what they’re missing, right?” Sam asks, nipping at Dean’s bottom lip.  
  
“We are straight guys,” Dean mumbles around a moan when Sam rubs against his sweet-spot again.  
  
Sam doesn’t argue. What they have is too complicated to put labels on anyway, so it doesn’t matter. In a way, Dean’s right. Sam’s never been attracted to a guy that isn’t Dean. But the thing between them is just them, just a logical next-step in the way they’ve always been even if it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, so trying to put it in a box wouldn’t work anyway.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, their lips sliding together, the words smeared between them.  
  
Sam squeezes his eyes closed, inhaling as deeply as he can through his nose, trying to slow down the frantic beating of his heart by sheer will alone. He honestly doesn’t think that he’s ever been this nervous – or terrified, really – about anything before in his life, not even the first time Dean fucked him. He jerks slightly when he feels Dean’s hand slide over his cheek, the calloused pads of his fingers lightly tracing over the bone. Sam’s eyes flutter open and he pulls back enough to look down at his brother, his breath hitching at the look on Dean’s face.  
  
“’s okay, baby boy,” Dean whispers, because he knows Sam and he knows that Sam’s freaking out.  
  
Sam nods and pulls his fingers away, shifting over so that he’s kneeling between Dean’s spread thighs. Dean smiles up at him – that soft, loving smile that he only ever gives to Sam – and grabs the lube, sitting up enough to pour some on his hand. Sam gasps when Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock, his jaw clenching as he fights the urge to thrust into his lube-sticky fingers. Dean flicks his wrist, stroking a few times, spreading the clear liquid down Sam’s shaft and a moan tears from Sam’s throat. He loves the feeling of Dean’s hands anywhere on him, especially there, and no matter how many times he’s tried by himself, he can’t quite recreate that perfect grip and angle.  
  
Dean lets go after a few strokes and falls back down onto the mattress, shifting his hips slightly. And because occasionally Sam actually _can_ be the huge girl Dean always teases him about being – and he’s apparently decided to turn into a gigantic cliché right now – he leans down and presses a quick kiss to Dean’s lips and whispers, “I love you.”  
  
“I know ya do, kiddo,” Dean says softly. “Me … me too.”  
  
Inhaling deeply, Sam leans forward and lines himself up, his gaze darting between Dean’s face and the sight of his swollen cock-head breaching the still too-tight ring of muscle. Dean grunts, his jaw clenching as his whole body tenses up. Sam’s eyes slam closed for a second and he has to wonder if this is even going to work. The tight, wet heat feels exquisite but it’s so tight and the last thing Sam wants is to hurt his brother in anyway, especially like this. Forcing his eyes back open, Sam looks up at Dean, his heart aching at the faint lines of pain that he can see around his eyes and lips.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispers hoarsely. “I…”  
  
“Shh,” Dean soothes. “’s… ‘s okay, Sammy. Just gimme a second,” he half-asks.  
  
Sam nods and dips down as best as he can, making sure not to move even though every muscle in his body is screaming to thrust, to bury himself in the silky-smooth tightness, and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. “’m sorry,” Sam breathes.  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean repeats. “Feels …”  
  
“I know,” Sam says, and he does. He remembers exactly how overwhelming it was the first time.  
Dean brings one hand up and pushes the sweat-damp hair off Sam’s forehead, his fingers trailing down the side of Sam’s face. Sam leans into the touch, rubbing his cheek against Dean’s palm. He’s about to tell Dean that they don’t have to do this, to pull away and stick with what they’ve been doing, but Dean’s muscles slowly unclench and Dean gives him a small smile and a nod.  
  
“Okay. C’mon, little brother, move.”  
  
A shiver runs down Sam’s spine, a fresh burst of heated blood shooting down between his legs and he presses forward. It takes a few stops and starts, Sam going as slow as he possibly can, but after what feels like forever, he’s buried to the hilt, the swell of his balls brushing the curve of Dean’s ass. Dean shifts his hips again like he’s still uncomfortable and the movement damn-near makes Sam’s eyes cross, the fluttering and clenching of Dean’s inner muscles too damn much.  
  
“Holy shit,” Dean rasps. “Freakin’ huge, Sammy.”  
  
Sam frowns, hating the fact that he’s hurting Dean. He drops his head down and kisses Dean’s cheek. “Sorry,” he murmurs softly.  
  
Dean chuckles quietly and palms his cheek, urging Sam’s head up. “’s a compliment.” His hand slides back, his fingers curling into a loose fist in Sam’s hair, and he tugs slightly. “Now, c’mon and move. Fuck me.”  
  
Sam groans at the way those words sound in Dean’s low, rumbly voice, but he still has to be sure. “Is it okay?”  
  
Dean nods, and he pulls Sam’s head back down so their foreheads are touching. “Yeah. Feels … I don’t know. Weird. But not bad.”  
  
“It gets better,” Sam promises.  
  
“I figured. The noises you make sometimes, sounds like it must feel pretty good,” Dean jokes, his fingers digging just briefly into Sam’s ribcage, tickling him.  
  
Sam squirms and laughs. “Shut up.”  
  
“‘Nother compliment.”  
  
Sam kisses Dean softly, and whispers, “You sure?”  
  
“Yeah. I am,” Dean promises, trailing his hand down Sam’s back.  
  
Sam nods. He slides up onto his knees a little more, and draws his hips back, his cock sliding deliciously out of the tight heat and then pushes forward slowly. Pleasure bursts low in his gut. Dean has a talented mouth and even more talented hands but neither of them have ever felt this amazing wrapped around Sam. He moans, dropping his forehead against Dean’s again, and Dean chuckles warmly.  
  
“S’good, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathes.  
  
“Way better than a girl.”  
  
“Wouldn’t know,” Sam says with a small shrug.  
  
Dean slides his arms around Sam’s back and pulls him in a little closer, so Sam’s more-or-less lying on top of him while he rocks in and out of Dean’s body. “Love that you don’t.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
At first, Sam had kind of wished that he’d had some experience to draw from – both at the beginning and even now – but he truly means that; he is glad that he waited and that he gets to experience every first there is with Dean. It makes an odd amount of sense, in their screwed up version of normal. Dean’s been there for every first in Sam’s life, except for his disastrous first kiss with Amy, so he’s grateful that they can do this together. And it’s nice, for once, being Dean’s first at something, even if he’ll never really say that out-loud. Sam has tried to make peace with his brother’s past – he’s not sure how successful he is, especially since it all came back just yesterday – but it’s refreshing for once knowing that this is something that is just between the two of them. And that it’s something Dean would never and will never give to anyone else.  
  
Sam picks up a slow, kind of shaky rhythm, pulling out a little further every time, the vice-like clench of Dean’s body relaxing around him. Dean’s hands slide down his back, settling on his hips, as he starts to thrust up against Sam. He shifts just slightly on the next thrust and Dean moans, his fingers tightening a bit and his cock twitches between them, smearing pre-come across Sam’s stomach.  
  
“Shit,” Dean half-gasps, half-chuckles.  
  
“That it?” Sam asks, even though by Dean’s reaction, he’s pretty sure it is.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Right there. C’mon, baby, harder.” One hand slides across Sam’s side and presses down on the small of his back.  
  
Sam nods and picks up the pace a bit, trying to keep that same angle. Dean slides his other hand back up into Sam’s hair, using the hold to pull him down into a sloppy, dirty kiss. “Fuck. Feels good, Sammy,” Dean growls and a warm burst of pride lights Sam up from the inside. He knows how good it feels on the other end of this, how full and amazing he feels with Dean inside him, hitting that sweet spot over and over again and it makes him happy that he’s able to give Dean the same sensations.  
  
“Lift these up,” Sam says, reaching behind himself to pat Dean’s thigh. He’s been on the other side enough to know how to make it feel the best. Dean pulls his legs up a little, wrapping them around Sam’s waist at Sam’s urging, and Sam uses the further change in the angle to hit Dean’s prostate a little differently. He thrusts in hard, and Dean moans again and tightens his grip on Sam even more.  
  
“Sam,” he mumbles, and Sam grins, completely please with himself and so turned on he can’t see straight.  
  
“So fuckin’ good,” he answers on a soft grunt, sweat starting to drip down from his hairline. Dean feels like heaven around him, tight and hot and slick, and Sam wants to climb inside his brother and never come back out.  
  
Dean digs his nails into Sam’s back, the little pinpricks of pain only adding to the already overwhelming pleasure circling Sam’s brain. Dean pulls Sam down for another kiss, and Sam lowers himself enough that Dean’s cock rubs between their stomachs as he rocks into his brother. He feels the ridges slide against his skin; hears Dean’s breath hitch. Dean stops moving for just a moment, like suddenly it’s too much, and then he starts pushing back against Sam again and kissing him so hard Sam’s lungs ache with the need to breathe but he doesn’t pull away. They move together almost as perfectly as they do when their positions are switched – both rolling together like one and crashing into each other at the same time.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispers, saying it again before he’s even realized he spoke the word out loud.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asks, around a tantalizingly gorgeous moan.  
  
“I …” Sam shakes his head; he has no follow-up, saying Dean’s name just grounds him sometimes.  
  
“I know,” Dean breathes, looking up at Sam with his lips slightly parted and his eyes dark and wide. “Me too.”  
  
Sam drops his head, his forehead pressing against Dean’s, and lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. It’s on the border of being too much, too overwhelming – the sight, the smell, the sensation, and the emotion – and Sam kind of feels like he’s drowning. Dean wraps himself completely around Sam, his legs tightening around his hips and his arms around Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, nudging their noses together, his tone soft and breathy and reverent and Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Dean say his name like that. Like that one word means everything to him.  
  
He’s suddenly so close he can almost taste it, his orgasm rushing up hard and fast. Somehow, he manages to snake one hand between their sweaty stomachs and wrap his fingers around Dean’s cock, palm sliding over the head, smearing pre-come down his shaft. Dean moans and his thighs tighten even more around Sam, his back arching slightly beneath Sam’s weight as he picks up a rhythm, stroking Dean at the same pace as their hips.  
  
“Close,” Sam manages to choke out. “Come for me,” he practically begs, wanting to make sure Dean gets there first.  
  
“Gonna,” Dean groans, his stiff length twitching in Sam’s hand, swelling a split-second before Dean grunts. His warm release shoots between them and Sam watches as the pleasure breaks across Dean’s face, his lips parted and his eyes wide, staring up at Sam. He’s almost detached from the pleasure of Dean’s inner muscles rippling and clenching around him for a moment, completely mesmerized by the breathtaking beauty of Dean falling apart for him.  
  
It doesn’t last long until the sensation catches up to him and Sam cries out, his hips jerking erratically as he follows Dean over the edge. He buries himself inside his brother as far as he can, his whole body trembling as he comes so hard it almost hurts. Stars burst behind his eyes, sparks fly along the highways of his veins, muscles clench and release and his whole body tingles with warmth and electricity. Sam’s cock empties itself into Dean and then he can feel it, hot and squishy where they’re connected, and that in itself is hotter than it has any right to be. Sam moans, his skin practically sizzling, and falls down on top of his brother. He pushes his face into Dean’s sweaty neck and breathes, deep, desperate gulps of breath that smell like Dean and them. Sam’s heart races and his head spins and everything mellows out and turns down and leaves him in quiet, boneless bliss.  
  
After a moment something tickles Sam’s back, and he realizes Dean is trailing his fingertips lightly up and down Sam’s spine. The touch is subtle; intimate in an almost innocent way, and Sam shivers. Dean used to do the same thing when they were kids and Sam couldn’t fall asleep. Sam used to have terrible nightmares sometimes, but the slightest touch from Dean would soothe him – remind him that his big brother was there watching over him. Nothing bad could happen to him as long as Dean was there. In a lot of ways, that’s still true. In moments like this, Sam thinks he’ll be okay if Dean never says he loves him. He doesn’t need words to know how Dean feels about him. He probably never will. He hears it loud and clear in every look, every caress, in the way Dean sighs _Sammy_, relaxed and content.  
  
Dean nuzzles into the side of his face, dragging the tip of his nose along Sam’s cheek and following it with his lips, and Sam manages to turn his head enough to find Dean’s lips in a soft, slow kiss.  
  
“You okay?” Sam asks again, because even in his fucked-out state, he has to know.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean whispers, the reverent smile on his face bleeding into his voice. “M’good.”  
  
Sam nods and kisses him again, lost in the lazy slide of their lips and the feeling of Dean’s strong, protecting fingers combing through his sweaty hair. Sam could stay here forever. He doesn’t know how long they lay there together like that, Dean’s fingers in his hair, their lips sliding together slow and languidly but he honestly doesn’t care. They never really get enough time to be like this, tangled up together, lost in each other’s arms, the rest of the world feeling like it’s been put on hold just for them. It still feels like too soon, though, when his softening cock slides out of Dean and Dean wrinkles his nose adorably. Sam can’t help but smile sympathetically, knowing exactly how weird and ticklish that sensation is, especially the first time.  
  
Dean shoots him a mock glare but tightens his arms when Sam tries to move away. Sam tilts his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Dean?”  
  
“Just … not yet, okay?” Dean murmurs softly.  
  
Sam smiles and presses another kiss to Dean’s lips – he’s hopelessly addicted to kissing Dean, doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough – then snuggles down deeper into his brother’s embrace, his face tucked into the curve of Dean’s neck. He presses his lips against Dean’s flesh, his eyes sliding closed, feeling the steady beat of his brother’s heart and it helps ground him, helps to soothe over everything the rest of the way, and a soft, content sigh escapes his lips.  
  
There’s so much he wants to say, so many emotions swirling around in his head and heart and tightening his throat, but he can’t quite find his voice to get any of it out. It’s more than just the physical act of what happened – even though that was awesome – it’s the meaning behind it. Dean doesn’t do well with words and emotions, he never has. He’s more tactile, letting touch and his actions say what he can’t. So Sam just lies there with him, lets Dean cradle him in his arms, and presses gentle kisses to Dean’s damp skin. He hopes they say all of the things he wants to but can’t – that he’s sorry for doubting Dean, that he appreciates the step Dean took tonight and how much it would have taken for him to get there, that nothing in his whole life has ever been better than the side of Dean he gets that no one else does, that he loves Dean more than anything – and judging from the way Dean exhales deeply and holds Sam just a little tighter, Sam would say his message went through just fine.


End file.
